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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661012">Guns and Strudel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego'>My_Alter_Ego</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>White Collar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arms Merchants, Gambling, Gen, Paramilitary Groups</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:34:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Neal are still trying to find their rhythm during the first season, and it’s a balancing act. Peter wants to utilize Neal’s talents while trying to protect him from harm. Therefore, he benches him during a dangerous operation and Neal—well, Neal is Neal, and you can guess what happens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neal Caffrey &amp; June Ellington, Peter Burke &amp; Neal Caffrey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Guns and Strudel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter had assembled his team in the White Collar conference room for a briefing. “Okay, listen up, people,” he began his spiel. “We’ve been asked by the FBI’s Domestic Terrorism Task Force to aid them in their investigation of a German national by the name of Gunther Richter. To give you background on this guy, think guns—lots and lots of them. He has a munitions manufacturing facility in Essen, Germany that turns out the best weaponry on the market. The Task Force has heard chatter that he’s currently in town to meet with an unknown person to make a deal. They believe the anonymous buyer is the head of a fringe paramilitary unit called ‘A New Era,’ and that militia’s manifesto reads like Mein Kampf.”</p><p>“Where do these ‘New Era’ morons call home?” Diana asked with a scowl.</p><p>“They’re wily, like jackals, and they move around a lot, but the Task Force thinks their main camp is in Upstate New York near Ithaca,” Peter answered.</p><p>“But the negotiations for the gun sale will be taking place here in New York City?” Jones questioned.</p><p>“Probably yes,” Peter answered. “Since Homeland Security noted Richter coming into JFK yesterday, we believe a deal will be hammered out here in Manhattan, and after they can agree on a price, then an out-of-the-way location will be established as the drop site.”</p><p>“Well, if the arms are being brought Stateside from Europe, couldn’t we inspect any large shipping crates unloaded at the airports or at the cargo ship docking facilities?” Diana asked logically.</p><p>Peter grimaced. “Good question, but the munitions could be coming across the Canadian/US border. There are a lot of unmonitored access points—some just dirt roads that only the locals know about. Then it would be clear sailing down to Ithaca.”</p><p>“So, we should be watching this Richter’s every move while he’s in our city,” Jones theorized, “to see where he goes and who he meets.”</p><p>Peter agreed. “Yeah, that’s standard protocol, but he may not be meeting directly with the actual head of the militia. It may be a cut out figure to protect the real leader.”</p><p>“Do you think a racist extremist would really assign that task to anyone other than himself?” Diana theorized.</p><p>“You’re probably right, but we’d like to get eyes on who this mystery man is before an actual deal takes place. It would be hard to play catch up later in the game,” Peter made his point.</p><p>“So what’s the plan?” Jones wanted to know.</p><p>“I think the ideal strategy is to send in our own secret weapon,” Peter said with a wicked smile as he turned to Neal, who was trying to look inconspicuous wedged behind an agent at the end of the table.</p><p>“Why me, Peter?” Neal asked, all wide-eyed and innocent.</p><p>“Because, Caffrey, you have an insidious way of making friends and ingratiating yourself with some very nefarious people. This should be right up your alley. Richter is staying in a suite at the Waldorf Astoria, and I personally know you like to frequent that place from time to time. Maybe you could run into him at the bar some night.”</p><p>“Peter, you know guns are not my thing,” Neal argued.</p><p>“I’m not asking you to buy them, Caffrey; I’m asking you to find out who is,” Peter said succinctly.</p><p>“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Neal objected.</p><p>“If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it,” Peter barked. “Now, let’s get busy organizing our own surveillance. Chop, chop, team!”</p><p>Neal literally melted into obscurity after the meeting. The Federal Building had lots of floors and a never-ending assortment of secretaries to chat up. Peter, noting Neal’s absence from his desk, kept pulling up his tracking data to find him. The ankle monitor was supposed to be accurate down to a foot, but by the time Peter waited for the slow-moving elevator and pressed a button, the blinking light had relocated. That did little for an annoyed handler who was getting angrier by the minute. By the time their paths finally crossed in a narrow corridor near Organized Crime, Peter was livid, grabbing Neal by his tie and dragging him through the first available door.</p><p>“You’ve been avoiding me, Neal, and I’ve missed you. That makes me a very impatient man,” Peter snarled.</p><p>The young con artist surveyed his surroundings and snarked, “Aw, that’s really sweet, Peter, but the men’s room is a very tacky place for a romantic tryst.”</p><p>Peter silently counted to ten and then practically frog-marched Neal back to his office in White Collar. “Level with me, Neal. Why this sudden reticence to go undercover? You usually relish dressing up and play-acting.”</p><p>Neal opened and closed his mouth at least twice before sighing and admitting, “Well, I may have a sort of history with Herr Richter.”</p><p>“What kind of history?” Peter managed to get out between his clenched teeth.</p><p>“Um, let’s see. I may happen to know that he really likes strudel. The man just can’t seem to get enough of it,” Neal offered meekly.</p><p>“Neal, that’s not the sort of ‘historical’ facts I’m interested in hearing,” Peter said menacingly. “Now cough up the real story.”</p><p>“Well, it was a long time ago, but if memory serves me, our past interaction may have entailed some krugerrands and perhaps Richter’s very blond and beautiful companion,” Neal shrugged nonchalantly.</p><p>Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Are you telling me that you stole gold coins from this guy and screwed his mistress?”</p><p>“That’s a very crude way of putting it,” Neal frowned. “But just so you know, the fraulein wasn’t his mistress. She was his very willing and nubile niece.”</p><p>“I’m assuming it didn’t end on a high note with a shared bottle of schnapps?” Peter sniped.</p><p>“Actually, Richter threatened to dismember me and feed my body parts to his Rottweilers. I have to tell you, Peter, the dude exuded a definite Jeffrey Dahmer vibe, and I thought it was prudent to leave Germany before he made good on his promise,” Neal shivered.</p><p>“For somebody who is supposed to be an asset, there are definite liabilities lurking in your repertoire,” Peter groused. “Just go back to your desk and start working on cold cases. And there’s no need to continue with your stupid game of hide and seek.”</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>The very next morning, Neal was back in Peter’s office. “I may have a way to find your mystery buyer, Peter,” the young con artist said with a dazzling smile.</p><p>“I thought I told you to stand down, Neal,” Peter grumbled, although he had to admit his curiosity was aroused.</p><p>“I know you did, but I kinda felt bad leaving you guys in the lurch. I mean, the team is pretty good at what they do, but I’m better.” Neal bragged.</p><p>“Do tell, ‘Oh Great One,’” Peter quipped.</p><p>“Well, Richter is no fool and he’s very careful. He’s probably well-aware that he’s being watched. That’s why he hasn’t left the Waldorf Astoria. So, since he wasn’t going to come to us, I sent somebody to venture into his space.”</p><p>Peter groaned. “Please don’t tell me it’s that little bald pipsqueak.”</p><p>Neal shook his head. “Haversham can be very clever and useful, but no, it wasn’t him. Actually, when I told June about the FBI’s little problem, she was anxious to help. She managed to snag a dinner table right next to Richter’s in the hotel’s restaurant and then tweaked his interest with some idle conversation. It seems that June was once a confidante of the great Marlena Dietrich when she made those old classic movies. Our German industrialist was very intrigued.”</p><p>“So, he’s a film noir buff. What exactly does that gain us in our investigation?” Peter was stymied.</p><p>Neal was more forthcoming. “There’s an unwritten law in the criminal handbook: Know your mark. Well, once upon a time, I just happened to have studied Richter and know that besides relishing strudel, he’s also a dedicated gambler especially enamored of roulette.”</p><p>“Okay, old cinema groupie, gambler with a sweet tooth, unscrupulous arms trader—how does any of that help us?” Peter was getting antsy.</p><p>Neal grinned. “You may not be aware that June is on the board of some very prestigious institutions and works tirelessly to obtain endowments and donations for the symphony as well as various museums and hospitals. Every year, she hosts a ‘Game Night for Charity’ where the well-heeled members of New York’s elite come out to drop money at black jack and poker tables as well as watch the dancing little round ball at a roulette wheel. June took the liberty of inviting our mark to this annual extravaganza, so it would be the perfect cover for him to meet his buyer. The event is going to take place tomorrow at the Javits Center. You could have agents inside dressed as wait staff and dealers, all decked out with those nifty little spy cameras in their bow ties or shirt buttons. Then you can find out who the buyer is by running his picture through facial recognition. Pretty cool, right?”</p><p>Now Peter was smiling as well. “You know, Neal, I just remembered why I keep you around, and it’s because of your clever and devious brain not just your good looks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Neal all but preened.</p><p>“Okay, Buddy, now just go back to your cold cases and let us do what we do best,” Peter said dismissively.</p><p>“Whoa! Oh no,” Neal objected as he held up his hands. “You can’t bench me on this one, Peter. This is June we’re talking about, and I have to be there tomorrow night to protect her in case things get dicey because you Feds somehow mess up.”</p><p>Peter looked astounded at the outburst. “What happened to the guy who was shaking in his shorts just yesterday?”</p><p>Neal narrowed his eyes at his handler. “No matter what you think, I’m not a coward, Peter. If I was, I wouldn’t have been able to do some of the things you allegedly claim that I did—in the past,” he quickly clarified his statement.</p><p>“Just what are you planning on doing tomorrow night?” Peter nailed his CI with a hard stare.</p><p>“I’m very good with games of chance, so I may be a black jack dealer,” Neal threw out the statement like a challenge.</p><p>“And what happens when Richter spots you?” Peter asked as calmly as he could. “Did it cross your mind that he may insist that you accompany him so that he can show you his collection of cutlery?”</p><p>Neal all but snorted. “Peter, I told you I know my mark. He’s a dedicated roulette junkie. He never ventures anywhere near a black jack table.”</p><p>“Neal, stay out of this or I’ll stash you in lockup tomorrow night!” Peter threatened.</p><p>“That was harsh,” the young man mumbled petulantly as he stood and made a dramatic exit from Peter’s office.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>The next evening at 9 pm, Peter was tugging on the stiffly-starched collar of his tuxedo shirt. The top stud on that shirt was actually a miniature camera and there was an electronic earwig in place. The Bureau had at least thirty other agents milling around the Javits Center ballroom working incognito. Peter made a circuit of the room with a champagne flute in his hand when he stopped abruptly in front of a crowded black jack table. There, big as life, was Neal Caffrey looking suave and debonair in a white shirt, black bow tie, and gold vest dealing cards like a pro. Peter suspected his blood pressure was now soaring into the stratosphere, and it was hard not to crush the delicate glass in his fist. He took deep cleansing breaths to regain his equilibrium and tried not to glare as Neal dealt hand after hand. Peter certainly wasn’t a bit surprised when the house kept winning. Neal was a card shark, after all, but then Peter reasoned the windfall was going to charity, so he’d cut Neal some slack.</p><p>Suddenly, Peter’s scrutiny was interrupted when Diana alerted him through his listening device. “Bogey on your six, Boss.”</p><p>Peter casually turned to see Richter stroll through the door and take in his surroundings. When he seemed satisfied that he saw nothing suspicious, as Neal predicted, he made his way straight to the roulette wheel and plunked down several large bills to buy his chips. Wedged in among other avid gamblers, it was going to be hard to get any pictures of anyone he tried to engage in conversation. Luckily, the German was intent on wagering, not talking, so it wasn’t an issue at the moment. When Peter looked back at the black jack table, Neal gave Peter the ghost of a smile and a wink.</p><p>For almost two hours, Peter’s covert team watched and waited until finally their patience was rewarded. After glancing at his watch, Richter cashed in his winning chips and collected a sizable return. Then he meandered over to the bar, sat next to another man in a dark suit, and ordered a drink. The two casual ‘strangers’ had their heads together for quite a while, and serendipitously, the bartender serving them was an FBI Agent who snapped a series of photos that would later prove invaluable.</p><p>Finally, the German arms dealer stood and was about to leave the festivities when he caught sight of someone at a nearby black jack table. Peter saw the man’s face turn evil and knew Neal had been spotted by an old foe bent on revenge. Peter tried not to panic. However, making his way to where his CI was working was like swimming upstream. The ballroom was packed, shoulder to shoulder, and it took precious minutes for Peter to finally glance up after making some headway and realize that his partner had disappeared and another handsome young stud was in his place. “Damn it, Caffrey’s been made, but now I can’t find him,” Peter whispered for his team to hear.</p><p>“On it,” he heard numerous replies.</p><p>“Think!” Peter said silently to himself. “How had Caffrey liked to make his getaways in the past? He certainly wouldn’t choose the front door, but maybe a less obvious escape route. Peter knew there was a means of egress from the huge ballroom that opened into a back street off the kitchen, perfect for caterers to unload their trays and foodstuffs. So, with that in mind, Peter headed in that direction. Apparently, Richter was thinking along the same lines because, eventually, Peter caught sight of the man’s blond hair just up ahead of him.</p><p>“Kitchen, people! Richter is headed to the kitchen,” Peter kept his team apprised.</p><p>When Peter almost collided with Jones and Diana at a set of swinging doors in a rear corridor, they drew their guns, covered each other, and then entered stealthily, FBI style. But it was seconds too late. Peter, eyes wide, saw Neal bent backwards over a stainless steel table and a tuxedoed man in an irate frenzy looming over him. Before any of the agents could react, the German slammed a meat cleaver down into the young man’s chest. Peter was about to pull the trigger on his Glock when a shadow moved into his crosshairs. June Ellington, dressed in a burgundy haute couture gown accessorized with dazzling diamonds and rubies, seemed to materialize out of nowhere. With a double-handed grip, she swung a cast iron skillet down hard on the back of Richter’s skull causing him to gracelessly slide to the floor in a heap.</p><p>“Neal, Darling, are you okay?” the elegant matron gushed over her favorite young criminal.</p><p>“A bit embarrassed, I’m afraid,” Neal muttered. “I was supposed to be a gallant knight riding in on my trusty steed to protect you from harm, but instead, you, Milady, had to save me.”</p><p>“Oh, pish-tosh,” June chided. “If I lost you as a boarder, how would I ever make do without that generous $800 a month stipend from the Feds!”</p><p>Peter was gobsmacked, not understanding how this sarcastic teasing byplay could be happening if Neal was mortally wounded. The cleaver was still ominously protruding from a slit in his vest. Neal looked over at Peter and saw the pathos on his face.</p><p>“You freaked out about this old thing, Peter?” he laughed. Then the “wounded” man knocked on his own chest with his knuckles and Peter heard the familiar sound. Now he knew that Neal was wearing protective body armor and the weapon was embedded in its hard shell.</p><p>“Caffrey, when I die of a stroke, it’s all on you,” Peter growled.</p>
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